ods, the voice of
old Bedard, peevish and grumbling as usual.

Her face, turned to the revealing dawn, was like and yet curiously
unlike the face into which John a Cleeve had looked and taken his
dismissal; a woman's face now, serener than of old and thoughtfuller.
These two years had lengthened it to a perfect oval, adding a touch
of strength to the brow, a touch of decision to the chin; and, lest
these should overweight it, had removed from the eyes their clouded
trouble and left them clear to the depths. The elfin Diane, the
small woodland-haunting Indian, no longer looked forth from those
windows; no search might find her captive shadow behind them.
She had died young, or had faded away perhaps and escaped back to her
native forests.

But she is not all forgotten, this lost playmate. Some trick of
gesture reappears as Diane lifts her face suddenly towards the
flagstaff tower. The watchman there has spied something on the
river, and is shouting the news from the summit.

His arm points down the river. What has he seen? "Canoes!"--the
relief is at hand then! No: there is only one canoe. It comes
swiftly and yet the day overtakes and passes it, spreading a causeway
of light along which it shoots to the landing-quay.

Two men paddle it--Dominique and Bateese Guyon. Their faces are
haggard, their eyes glassy with want of sleep, their limbs so stiff
that they have to be helped ashore.

The Commandant steps forward. "What news, my children?" he asks.
His voice is studiously cheerful.

Dominique shakes his head.

"There is no relief, Monseigneur."

"You have met none, you mean?"

"None is coming, Monseigneur. We have heard it in Montreal."

CHAPTER XXII.

DOMINIQUE.

"Montreal?"

While they stood wondering, a dull wave of sound broke on their ears
from the westward, and another, and yet another--the booming of
cannon far up the river.

"That will be at La Galette," said the Commandant, answering the
question in Dominique's eyes. "Come up to your quarters, my
children, and get some sleep. We have work before us." He motioned
the others to fall back out of hearing while he and Dominique mounted
the slope together. "You had audience, then, of the Governor?"
he asked.

"He declined to see us, Monseigneur, and I do not blame him, since he
could not send us back telling you to fight. Doubtless it does not
become one in M. de Vaudreuil's position to advise the other thing--
aloud."

"I